


where i want to be

by drqco



Category: Chess - Rice/Ulvaeus/Andersson
Genre: Fluff, Introspection, Kennedy Center Chess (2018), Light Angst, M/M, Mornings, New York
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29515686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drqco/pseuds/drqco
Summary: Anatoly likes watching Freddie sleep.It’s a weird concept—seeing a man who’s normally so hyper, jumpy, off-the-rails—sleeping peacefully beside him. It’s one of the rare moments when Freddie is calm. Even when they used to play together, Freddie was always moving. Pressing his fingertips to his thumbs, caressing his captured pieces, drumming his fingers on his lap. But here, in the early morning—Freddie is still.or, in which; anatoly & freddie have a nice morning, because this tag needs some fluff, goddamnit.
Relationships: Anatoly Sergievsky/Frederick Trumper, Svetlana Sergievsky/Florence Vassy (mentioned)
Kudos: 10





	where i want to be

**Author's Note:**

> this is based upon kc chess 2018. the story + appearances will take from that production.
> 
> fairly new to chess the musical and i'm so in love with it ???? why is it so underrated ???? and i absolutely love tolya/freddie & svetlana/florence ??? this is the true ending btw the pairs get married its true i was there 😐. i hope you enjoy and this may be a bit ooc but !?!?! whatever u kno they deserve this

Anatoly likes watching Freddie sleep. 

It’s a weird concept—seeing a man who’s normally so hyper, jumpy, off-the-rails—sleeping peacefully beside him. It’s one of the rare moments when Freddie is calm. Even when they used to play together, Freddie was always moving. Pressing his fingertips to his thumbs, caressing his captured pieces, drumming his fingers on his lap. But here, in the early morning—Freddie is still. 

Anatoly always wakes up first. Mostly, it was a habit of his childhood. He’d always been forced to get up early, make his bed, eat, train—rinse and repeat. New York offers him the freedom he wanted, and even if he’s miles away from his birthplace, it always manages to creep up on him. Freddie helps, in more ways than one. 

They aren’t exactly a surprising pair. To the rest of the world, maybe. But to Florence, Svetlana—they understand that the two of them were truly endgame. It’s sappy and cheesy, but when he calms Freddie down from a panic attack, or when Freddie holds him in a way no one thought was possible—Anatoly will take cheesy. 

After all, after everything they went through, isn’t this what they deserved? A life of peace and freedom, away from politics and the stupid game that robbed them both of their childhood, just the two of them (though, Anatoly and Freddie both understand that chess will always remain a part of them. They know they’ll never stop thirsting, hunting, for the adrenaline of a checkmate—and it’s fine. It’s their lives, yes, but not entirely. They understand that, now.) 

Anatoly likes to think so. 

“Tolya,” Freddie whispers—dark hair swooping against his forehead as he peaks up at him. His voice is laced with sleepiness, his eyes barely open. _Tolya_ was a nickname Freddie had given him when he first arrived to New York. _”Anatoly gets boring sometimes,”_ he had said, before leading the way to hail for a cab. Anatoly didn’t argue, plus, _Tolya_ made him feel things. 

“Always awake at these damn hours,” Freddie mutters, turning his back to Anatoly. Anatoly glances at their clock, 6:23 AM blinking in green numbers. The sun as already risen, and Freddie seems to bask in its glow. Leaning towards Freddie, Anatoly purposefully brushes his beard against Freddie’s nape, wanting to get his reaction. “Piss _off._ It’s too early,” The American groans, blindly shoving at him. Anatoly laughs, flopping back onto his back. Even if they were lovers, it was fun teasing him and being teased back, after all, it’s what started it all. 

At 6:23 AM, on a Sunday in June—somewhere in Brooklyn—Anatoly thinks about his life. Perhaps if you told young Anatoly that there was life outside of chess, that he’d be able to share it with an American man—his enemy—he’d tremble in fear. He wasn’t aware that he could have a life, not after Molokhov took him in. He wonders what would happen if he lived normally—would he worm his way into the life he had now? (Probably not. But he firmly believes he’d pursue a career in chess in some way. The game controlled him.) 

He’d probably be safer, secure. He’d miss Freddie. 

“Hug me,” Freddie calls out again—reaching back with his hand—groping around for him. Anatoly can’t help but laugh at him—this morning would make a good story for Florence and Svetlana later. (Because _yes_. They meet for brunch in fucking _Manhattan_ every Sunday. It’s when his children will stay with him and Freddie, then switch off to Florence and Svetlana’s. Natalya and Ivan were each a carbon copy of Anatoly and Svetlana. He’s gotten closer with the two of them, thankfully. Freddie, too. Freddie plays catch with Natalya—very _American_ of him—and Anatoly reads with Ivan. Vice versa as well, but they do their best.)

“Shut up. Hug me,” the man repeats. Anatoly complies with the request, wrapping his arms around the bigger, yet shorter man. (Freddie has always had a bit of a stomach, not that he minded or Anatoly minded. It was nice. Soft.) Freddie’s soft, blue, sleep shirt feels nice against his skin. “I love you,” he murmurs against Freddie’s neck, causing him to squirm. Freddie calms and replies, “Go back to sleep.” 

Anatoly won’t—not quite yet. Some days, he feels almost the same paranoia Freddie experiences. He’s terrified someone will find him, take him back, take away this life he had and imprison him back to his old life. Or someone will take Freddie. Or the kids. Or Svetlana. Or Florence. He doesn’t want this to be another lie—or him falling for a gambit. If he can bask in this longer, he’ll take it. 

“‘M not leavin’,” Freddie sighs. Perhaps he knows him too well. 

“And I love you too,” he adds, covering his hand with his own. Anatoly pushes closer, and closes his eyes.


End file.
